


That Perfect Stranger

by LaLainaJ



Series: Make Some Noise [185]
Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Basically Caroline hightailed it out of MF when she was turned, Enter Klaus, F/M, Flirting, and is now visiting Bonnie in New Orleans, and reconnected with Bonnie much later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:16:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27673241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaLainaJ/pseuds/LaLainaJ
Summary: It's Bonnie's birthday and Caroline figures it's finally time she visits Bonnie's adopted home of New Orleans. She falls in love with the atmosphere and finds Bonnie's new acquaintances... intriguing.
Relationships: Caroline Forbes/Klaus Mikaelson, Mentioned - Bonnie Bennett/Kol Mikaelson/Lorenzo "Enzo" St. John
Series: Make Some Noise [185]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/338125
Comments: 13
Kudos: 144





	That Perfect Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! It's been so long! I hope everyone is surviving the neverending hellscape that is 2020. My years been rough in ways related to the pandemic (job loss) and not (family health stuff) so I have been binging a lot of mindless reality TV and playing computer games. I'm getting back into the writing groove because it does make me feel better so hopefully I'll post again soon :)
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has popped in and left reviews on various things over the last couple months! They reminded me that I *could* write, which was super nice, even if I wasn't really in the headspace *to* write.

**That Perfect Stranger**

**(Prompt: 17 + 43 for the prompts, where #17 was was meeting at a party whilst drunk au and #43 was falling in love with their best friend’s partner au. Rated T)**

As much as Caroline hates surprises, she does take a certain amount of joy in surprising other people. When she’d gotten an invite to Bonnie Bennett’s 50th birthday party, she’d immediately started investigating flights to New Orleans.

She hadn’t RSVP’d. Rude? Probably. Caroline had rationalized that, based on the invites (champagne cardstock embossed with a shimmer so subtle it had to be stupidly expensive), whoever was throwing the party wouldn’t skimp on food or drink, so an extra person wouldn’t be an issue.

It’s been about ten years since she’d last seen Bonnie, and she’s never visited Bon’s adopted home town.

Weaving her way through the thick crowds on the streets, carried along by the music and the energy, Caroline’s kicking herself for not making the trip sooner. She has a general idea of where she’s going, has the address memorized, but she’s content to take a meandering route.

That might be the slight buzz she already has going – either the drinks from the bars here are _really_ heavy on the booze, or there’s something in them designed to affect vampires. She’s getting a few appreciative leers in her short metallic dress, but given the vast array of attire on display – from ratty jeans, to sparkly costumes, to the tiniest club skirts – she doesn’t feel out of place.

She might have to stay a few extra days and do some exploring.

Caroline’s not entirely sure how her oldest friend had ended up in New Orleans. They’d reconnected long after Bonnie had made the move. Bonnie’s never been one to brag though Caroline’s heard whispers from other acquaintances. Something about evil witches coming back from the dead, mortal danger, a showdown of supernatural species, then Bonnie showing up to kick ass and take names.

At the time, Caroline had still been committed to pretending to be human. She’d fled Mystic Falls when it became clear that far too many people wanted to kill her, had hitchhiked across a few states before her cash had run out in Chicago.

Luckily, she’d mastered compulsion easily. Chicago was home to all sorts of easy marks – business bros who genuinely thought hitting on a seventeen-year-old girl was a thing they should be doing. Typically, such a man’s only redeeming quality, which Caroline had been happy to take advantage of, was the lack of a limit to how much money he could withdraw from the ATM at once. It had taken a little trial and error, but she’d mastered feeding enough to sustain herself without leaving a pile of bodies behind.

She’d built up a nice little nest egg, had even gotten her first college degree. She’d optimistically sent her parent’s an invite to her graduation. Her mother hadn’t shown; her dad had. He’d just been armed with a stake and a jug of vervain.

After that, Caroline had given up on blending in.

She’d been flitting around the globe for about a decade when Bonnie had found Caroline on Instagram and sent a DM. At first, Caroline had been leery about another trap. Bonnie hadn’t been too thrilled to make Caroline a daylight ring, and she’d kept her old email address for years, hadn’t heard a peep from anyone she’d grown up with. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her, and she’d replied.

Stilted text conversations got longer, more fluid. Eventually, they’d progressed to phone calls. Caroline had carefully planned their first meeting, in a city where she had connections and witches were thin on the ground.

They’d had some hard conversations on that trip. Ended up spending way too much time ugly crying indoors, considering they’d been in freaking Porto in June. They’ve made up for it in the years since.

Caroline sidesteps a pack of probable frat boys – cute, she notes idly, probably tasty – twists her head a bit to make eye contact (she’s not hungry _now,_ but who knows how the night will go). She smiles, a little flirty, only to stop abruptly as the noise disappears as if someone had pressed the pause button.

She can still see the street behind her, jam-packed with people and lit up by streetlights and neon bar signs. In front of her, however, it’s quiet. Still. Caroline jumps when a throat clears, her head whipping around to see a man in a white tux who _definitely_ hadn’t been there before. “What the crap?” she squeaks, fangs dropping.

His face remains smooth, not even a hint of shock or fear evident. He’s blandly handsome, nonthreatening, but she’s learned not to trust outer appearances. “Miss Caroline Forbes, correct? You’re here for Miss Bennett’s birthday?”

Warily, Caroline nods.

White tux smiles, friendly now, “Excellent; she’ll be pleased you’ve made it. Can I see you inside?”

His head tips, and Caroline almost jumps when a stone staircase freaking _shimmers_ into view. White Tux pretends he hadn’t noticed her shock, jogging up the steps. He pulls a gleaming door open. It lacks a doorknob, is instead marked with half a shiny M (probably real gold, she decides).

He waits patiently while Caroline makes her way up the steps. She’s careful, given the fact that they’d appeared _magically_. Between her high heels and her short skirt, even her vampire reflexes won’t save her from humiliation should she take a fall. When she’s at the top, she peers inside curiously.

She hears music again, the clink of glasses. Laughter. “Do you need to see my invite?”

Caroline’s got it in her purse, but the man shakes his head. “Not necessary. You wouldn’t have seen me if you weren’t on the guest list. Welcome to The Abattoir. I hope you have a pleasant evening.”

“Thank you,” Caroline murmurs, biting back her questions about the impressive magic this place obviously holds. No need to seem like a total yokel if she’s wrong, and cloaking gigantic buildings in the middle of a busy city is in every witch’s bag of tricks.

The lights are low, and most flat surfaces are covered in candles, lending a warm glow that bounces off ornate framed paintings and crystal chandeliers. The click of her heels is lost under the sounds of the party, louder now that she’s crossed the threshold. She follows the noise easily, walks through a set of double doors into a packed ballroom.

Caroline lifts on her toes, scanning the room, notes the party spilling out the far side, where several sets of French doors open onto what looks like expansive grounds. “Well,” she mutters, snatching a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, “Bon, you’ve been keeping some secrets.”

“I have not,” Bonnie says, and Caroline whirls, narrowly managing to avoid tipping her glass.

“Bonnie!” she squeals, shifting forward and throwing an arm around Bon’s shoulders. “ _Great_ dress.” It’s teal and short, with dramatic sleeves and a deep neckline, just a tiny bit witchy.

“I’m so glad you came!” Bonnie says, returning the hug enthusiastically.

“I am too, actually. Why have I never come to New Orleans before?” She sways a little to the music, drains her champagne, smiling when Bonnie laughs, “Seriously, I had a better time on the walk here than I have in ages.”

“We do like to hear that,” a low voice replies, just behind Caroline. She startles, dropping her glass, though it’s neatly caught by long fingertips, just next to her bare thigh, before it hits the floor.

People have _got_ to quit sneaking up on her.

A hand lands on her hip, nudging her away from a potential collision with a nearby couple, and Caroline whirls, ready to remind Mr. Sneaky Feet that it's rude to interrupt a conversation.

The words don’t come. Caroline hadn’t realized just how close he would be.

Or that he’d be _really_ attractive.

Her eyes dart to the champagne glass clutched in his hand, to a bare wrist, then a crisp white sleeve that’s already rolled up. His tie is askew, and his eyes are downcast, in the middle of giving _her_ person an equally thorough perusal.

She can’t even be mad about it.

His thumb toys with the sequins that cover her dress, flicking one absently back and forth. She opens her mouth, unsure of just what is going to come out. There’s a 50/50 chance it’s either snippy – because hello, personal space – or flirty because she’s got excellent eyesight and _fully_ believes in shooting her shot.

Thankfully, Bonnie interrupts, tugging on Caroline’s arm until she has the personal space that she’d been slow to take back for herself. “Klaus, this is my very good friend Caroline.”

There’s a definite warning in her tone. Caroline glances at Bonnie’s face, finds her expression is pleasant enough, at least to a person unfamiliar with Bon’s moods. Caroline is, however, so she studies _Klaus_ a little more carefully. She shifts, boxing him out, and waits until Bon meets her eyes. A quirk of an eyebrow, then a tilt of her head, and Bonnie gets the message. “No, _ew_.”

So he’s not an ex, or someone Bonnie’s interested in. Good news, Caroline thinks, because that would be awkward considering how much she hadn’t minded his hands on her.

However, Caroline can’t help but look at Bon like she’s nuts.

Bonnie sighs, “It’s a long story. Klaus and I are…” she trails off, like she’s struggling for words.

“Partners,” Klaus supplies, smoothly shifting so they’re a circle once more. Caroline’s pretty sure he’s unused to being ignored.

“Eh, more like coworkers.”

A flutter of Klaus’ fingers and a new tray of champagne appears. He waits for Caroline to select a flute before taking one for himself. Bonnie declines with a shake of her head. “I feel like there’s a story here,” Caroline says, nudging Bonnie not so subtly with her foot to let her know that she’s a little peeved she hadn’t heard it before.

“Klaus is the one who first… invited me to New Orleans.”

Caroline doesn’t miss the hesitance. She narrows her gaze, shifting her weight to widen the distance between her body and Klaus.’ A smirk tugs at his full lips, but he sips his champagne, doesn’t press forward again. “I’m sensing the word invite is doing a lot of work there.”

He grins at that. “Truth be told, it was more of a coercion. A bit of blackmail, a few threats. But it all worked out for the best.”

Dubious, Caroline looks to Bonnie, only to find grudging agreement. “I will never admit Klaus is right about anything. But New Orleans is home now.”

Klaus’s smile turns taunting, and he lifts his glass, tipping it in Bonnie’s direction. “You’re welcome.”

Bonnie’s lips press together and Caroline feels an odd crackle of energy but then two other men, one familiar, one not, are at Bonnie’s side. The man she doesn’t recognize is taller and cups the back of Bonnie’s neck, pulling her into a kiss that’s so not appropriate for company. Enzo’s mouth brushes the side of Bonnie’s neck and Caroline knows she’s gaping at the scene like an idiot. Bonnie melts into Enzo though, her hands tugging the other guy closer. When he pulls back he tosses Caroline a salute, before spinning Bonnie onto the dance floor. She just catches his words before they’re swallowed up by the crowd, “No aneurysms on your birthday; you can torture Klaus at family dinner on Sunday.”

Enzo’s towed along, managing a wink at Caroline, “Hello, Gorgeous. We’ll catch up later, yeah?”

“Enzo, what…”

But he’s gone and Caroline resists the urge to dive in after them and start asking questions. “When did that happen?!” she exclaims, forgetting she has an audience.

Klaus leans closer, “Kol and Bonnie have been off and on for decades. They’ve been consistently on since Enzo arrived… about two years ago now.”

“I cannot believe they didn’t tell me,” Caroline grumbles. Enzo she kind of understands, he’s not the best at texting or emailing, is forever losing his phone. Bonnie should know that getting into a polyamorous relationship is the kind of juicy dirt that needs to be shared, damn it.

Klaus lifts a shoulder, “I’m not entirely sure your friend views it as serious. I expect a blow up once Kol presents her with the gift he bought for her. Possibly why he’s attempting to institute a no aneurysm rule.”

She’s dying to fish for more details, has to bite the inside of her lip to keep from immediately peppering Klaus with questions. He’s watching her expectantly though, his lips curled in amusement, and she knows that’s _exactly_ what he expects.

Caroline would hate to be predictable.

She looks at the people near them, notes that most of them avert their eyes, as if they’ve been attempting to eavesdrop. “Klaus,” Caroline says again, letting the name roll off her tongue slowly.

“Mikaelson,” he supplies, with just a hint of a sigh. She supposes she has to give him a point for not attempting to deflect. “I assume my reputation precedes me?”

“That you’re an evil megalomaniac that’s prone to violent murderous rampages when things don’t go your way? I might have heard a whisper or two.”

He carefully avoids her gaze, sipping his drink calmly. “I’ve mostly cut down on those,” Klaus mutters.

Caroline hums noncommittally. But she doesn’t leave. “Bonnie leads the witches here, that much I know. What is it that you do?”

He moves closer, until she can feel the heat of his arm pressed against hers, skin separated by only his shirt. “I built this city.”

Caroline’s eye roll is automatic, too used to similar bragging from men who are trying to impress her. She reaches out, straightens his tie. “Sure,” she drawls, rubbing the obviously expensive fabric between her fingertips, “you seem like you build things all the time.”

He takes no offense, presses her hand flat against his chest, a laugh rumbling out of him. “You long are you planning on staying in my city, Caroline?”

His touch is light, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. It feels like an invitation, not a threat. Still, one can’t be too sure when playing with dangerous hybrids. “I assume that’s not a ‘be out before dawn if you don’t want your head on a pike’ hint?”

He circles her wrist, lifts her hand to his shoulder. He sets his glass aside, Caroline does the same. “Correct. You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like.”

“Good to know,” Caroline says, letting Klaus lead her onto the dance floor.

She _had_ already been contemplating a few extra days, hadn’t she?


End file.
